


When You Feel My Heat ( look into my eyes )

by RedCrimez89



Series: shades of acid green | lazarus pit AU [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Batman and Son (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Parent Talia al Ghul, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Emotional Hurt, Fear, Gen, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Hurt Damian Wayne, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lazarus Pit (DCU), Mentions of Death, Secrets, The League of Assassins (DCU), Time Skips, Wayne Manor, but it’s fine, hes trying y’all, life and death, mentioned miscarriage, powers, they figure it out, v angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-26
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCrimez89/pseuds/RedCrimez89
Summary: Damian was born different. He had never noticed it at first, the way shallow wounds could heal in one day of how small, feeble birds cupped in his palms could suddenly start flapping their wings again, completely healthy. He could annihilate with a tap of his finger, take the gifts of others just by thinking about it. He never told anyone about it. Never thought it was important. Until many years later, an entire group of bats is there to witness his magic.—————OR,  Damian gets powers from the Lazarus Pit.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Original Character(s), Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: shades of acid green | lazarus pit AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215449
Comments: 24
Kudos: 142





	When You Feel My Heat ( look into my eyes )

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m gonna be honest. This all started on a whim and somehow I ended up with a very long draft that has become this story. I’m also aware this concept isn’t really new whatsoever, but I decided to stick with it anyway because I seriously had too much fun writing this thing. I do plan to continue this series for a little while so stay tuned if you’d like. Can’t promise it’ll be soon though because this fic alone took me about two weeks to write up.
> 
> TW -
> 
> \- brief mention of miscarriage  
> \- death & blood (not descriptive of morbid in any way ofc)  
> \- implied/ referenced child abuse  
> \- two children do die at the end but it’s not gruesome and (SPOILER) they do come back to life
> 
> And lastly, a few more disclaimers before you read.
> 
> Completely italicized dialogue is NOT mine and neither are the scenes they are in. I did rewrite some scenes from Batman and Robin issues 1 and 15, so those are not at all original and it IS NOT my material. 
> 
> Damian does mention thinking it’s stupid to grieve etc, but just because a character believes one thing does not mean the author believes it as well.
> 
> And I think that covers everything? If there are any more trigger warnings please, don’t hesitate to point it out and there are probably some grammar and spelling mistakes somewhere, so... oops
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Thanks for reading <3
> 
> EDIT: forgot to mention this but the scene where Damian and Tim meet isn’t original either.

_The boy was not sure where they were going._

_All he knew was that where ever it was, it would most likely involve more exceedingly unbearable pain._

_There were brutal hands at his back and on his shoulders, shoving him further and further into the dimly lit cavern tinted green. The boy felt as light as a cloud in that moment, floating farther and farther off into the depths of his own mind with every passing second. It was as simple as falling asleep in inky black, unaware yet uncaring as long as you could escape the harsh bitterness of the real world for just a moment._

_And then he was jerked back to reality from the pain of falling down, down, down and onto the jagged, hard rock beneath his stumbling feet. The boy’s shaking arms slowly pushed him back up, violent coughs rattling inside him until his blood was splattered on the floor in dark globs of crimson. He put his trembling fingers to his mouth and brought them back to see red coating his finger tips, could feel the ache of every single bone and muscle that had been broken, or stabbed, or overworked, shaking from the exhaustion of it all. And then there were rough, merciless hands latching onto his shoulders and dragging him up, fists that connected to his chest and cheeks and legs before he was forced to walk again with silent tears dripping down his face._

_ ( “ What a waste of potential. What a waste of  time.” ) _

_In these moments he knows nothing but pain and everything but mercy, knows how it feels to fight with a sprained wrist and hobble for miles on a broken ankle. He knows the feeling of a blade slicing through his skin, can remember the adrenaline that keeps the pain at bay for as long as you are willing to battle. The boy knows what it’s like to be beat down without restraint, pitiless and unforgiving because he disobeyed and failed and so now he has to pay the price._

_He doesn’t_ want _to know._

_ He doesn’t  want to be here, dragging his feet with wet, wet, wet dripping down his face, embarrassed and ashamed of his open displays of weakness. But there is no choice for him and he can only hope there will be no more back lashes and no more additional charges to his treasons. _

_They eventually reach a point in the cave where a woman was waiting for them, her voice warm like rays of desert sun, emerald green nails reaching up to tilt his head forward, hands the only thing keeping him from falling. His mother, with her long chestnut hair and jade green eyes swept blood from the corner of his mouth with a forest green cloth, dabbing away the tears from his red cheeks and whipping the drool off his chin as if he were still a helpless little boy. Embarrassment burns red on his cheeks._

_“ Come my son,” Mother says, and her hand caresses his cheek so gently that the boy almost entirely forgets about the immense pain he’s in. “You have faced enough punishment for your failures.” And those words are like a blow to the face but she says them with anger in her eyes, rage towards a_ _person he knows is not him._

_The hands drop him and he caves in on himself, bracing his body for an impact that never comes. Instead, he is swept into the embrace of his mother, safe in a familiar pair of arms, ones that won’t hurt him for years to come. The boy burrows his face into his mother’s neck, hands gripping her silk clothing like a life line. He is reminded of his pain and failures with each and every step she takes and the boy lets his tears flow from his eyes and down her neck, unable to take the pain of his own mistakes any longer._

_He needed to be the perfect heir._

_Why couldn’t he be the perfect heir?_

_“ I am sorry.” Mother whispers in his ears, fingers drumming the rest of the message onto his skin in their special language, a secret for the two of them to share._

_( The boy will not understand her words for many years to come, will not even remember this event until he is much, much older and they are far, far apart. And when he does he will think back on this day and wonder why she had done this to him, wonder why there had been regret and fondness in the lower notes of her tone before she had changed something in him forever.)_

_The boy opens his mouth to ask, to question why and what but she is already letting go, dunking him into an ocean of neon green and pain._

_He is burning and freezing all at once and he is almost positive that his cells are being clawed apart while he drowns, is certain that this is death and this will be his end._

_The boy goes blank, becomes victim to the overwhelming sight of neon and when he comes shooting up to the surface, a scream tears through his throat and the guards (along with his mother) watch in horror as Damian’s eyes glow so bright it hurts to look, hands producing a large ball of green energy._

_( In the end, most of them die that night.)_

* * *

There was a time in Damian’s life where he had come to understand he wasn’t like others.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, the way broken bones and shallow cuts could heal in the matter of one day. Or how small, feeble birds cupped in his palms could suddenly start flapping their wings again, like they had simply been taking a nap or playing possum all along. He didn’t notice the crackling of green at his fingertips or how he could annihilate with a simple flick of his wrist or the graze of his fingers. How he could take something so valuable without even drawing a blade.

He figured it had been normal.

The boy thought if he could do it, then surely others could too. 

This did not turn out to prove as true as he originally thought it to be.

Regardless, there had been one special night where Damian had known for sure that he was different from the rest of the Al Ghul’s, different from the rest of his consistent nightmare of a world.

It had been in the dead of night at a time too early to remember, a day that had started with the restlessness of a six year old and the promise of training hours later. He’d listened to the beating of his heart in the dead of night, killing the little insects that dared to cross his window sill. A breeze had brushed past his window and by then he had made an entire army of insects, squashed and poked and dead in his hand. Damian had come to find the smashed ones could not regain the lives they had lost, most likely because there was nothing left to bring back, but the ones who had suffered his touch and entered his train of thought could be brought back. He could poke them gently and watch them awaken or he could tap the window sill, could even just think about watching the little insects move once again like they had prior to death. And then they’d tramp away like their bodies hadn’t gone immobile, like their world hadn’t stopped moving for the mere moments in which they had been gone.

Those nights were secrets. Secrets to be kept in the mist of the darkness in a room that was supposed to be his, a whisper to never be heard or spoken of ever again.

And so Damian kept it to himself.

He silently healed his wounds in the quiet confines of his bedroom, bandaged them up and twitched like they hurt whenever he was struck there ruthlessly by a trainer. He took the lives of his innocent opponents right before his sword hit their mark, anything to make it feel slightly less wrong. The ones who did deserve death only felt it a little less, as Damian felt something of power from ripping the life from their bodies as easily as one could take candy from a baby. And then he would finish them off, watch the gift fade from their eyes and snatch the little whips of life left in their bodies, turn away and feast on how good he felt after soaking up the power, the raw energy of life.

It had not been long before they’d discovered the secret he’d kept so well hidden inside him, deep, deep down.

In the end, the punishment hadn’t been as bad as he had thought it would be.

Hands (why was this familiar?) led him to the throne of his grandfather and he bent down on his knees before him, understood that if punishment came it would be well deserved.

He had lied.

It was unworthy of an heir to fib to their kin. (Even if he had not technically fibbed since he decided not to mention his power at all.) But Grandfather had simply ordered him to take the gifts of others in return for a pain free warning.

One unrecognizable, easily replaced assassin came forward and Damian simply stared at her. And then she was gone, eyes blank and falling to the floor noiselessly. And then there was another. And another. And another. All until Grandfather was satisfied and then Damian gave them their gifts back, returned what he had stolen in the first place.

A tension filled the room, fragments of shock peaking through the faces of those who were supposed to be nothing but emotionless pawns and warriors. And Damian will never, not in a thousand years, forget the look of his grandfather’s bafflement, will never forget the hungry satisfaction that quickly smoothed over to take its place.

* * *

“ This will be your new home Damian.”

Damian peers over the edge of the balcony, eyes wide from the overwhelming sight of his father’s headquarters. The fabled Bat-cave is everything and nothing he imagined it to be at all. Damian had visualized the base as a place of honor and pride, much like his Grandfather’s was. He expected servants and guards to be placed strategically, expected a throne room of sorts and something, anything other than this. It was very impressive, yes, significantly high tech as well considering the large monitors and equipment Damian has viewed so far. But the lack of servants and operators to defend a place as invaluable as this didn’t quite sit right. As well as the fact that there were costumes that were less than adequate for battle and a questionable sized penny and dinosaur on display.

Despite all this, it almost seemed surreal. The fact that he was standing here in one of his father’s most precious secrets, finally getting the chance to meet him for the first time since birth. Damian has wanted this for years, has broken bones and scaled up mountains, has been on the verge of death and taken lives just to be here. Anything to prove he was ready to meet the man they called The Bat.

He remembered the stories of Alexander told to him while dawn turned to dusk, remembered the sun breaking the horizon and Mother’s words as they fought with wooden swords, speaking of what he was to one day become, how he was going to lead the world into the future.

“ Is he a king too?”  He had asked.

_“ I suppose, in a way, he is.”_

Now, after years of training and strict discipline, Damian was worthy and skilled enough to be the prince of his father’s empire. Now, Damian was ready to be his heir.

The thought made him bubble up inside with a sort of giddy excitement, the idea of fighting alongside a man who he could only dream of for so long.

Father looked nothing close to the pictures and sketches Damian had developed as a child. In fact, he was missing the deep, jade green irises and the clean beard he had always imagined him to have, but this man has his blood nonetheless and despite his disappointment in the facial hair and height department, his father was known to be one of the greatest warriors on earth. Mother said one day he’d be the same. Maybe even better. ( You must be better. You  _must_ be better.)

He’d do well to make his father proud.

But those feelings all wilted like a flower deprived of sunlight when  _he_ arrived. Drake. The present day Robin, Father’s partner and some sort of pseudo son. The boy was dressed in a mostly red costume with a black domino mask, a golden ‘R’ insignia presented proudly on his chest. Damian wanted to rip the letter clean off his costume and shove him off the cliff and into the empty abyss below, bellow and howl at him for stealing what he’d always longed to have. ( He was probably only here to stave off the resulting pain of Mother’s made up miscarriage anyway.) But Damian simply held his scowl and stared at the boy’s extended hand and too happy smile like a disease, threatened that he had even dared to approach him much less crouch down to meet his eye as if his stature was that intimidating in the first place.

Damian was a prince.

He should still be treated as much.

“ Umm,” The fake gulps, eyes flickering to his outstretched hand and Damian’s face.

“ Here on my world, we call this gesture a handshake...” The teen smiles awkwardly, still attempting to give Damian, as he called it, a ‘handshake’.

Damian scowls.

“ Don’t patronize me,” The boy advises coldly, eyes narrowing at the other boy’s hand frozen in mid air. “ _Or I’ll break your_ _face_ _._ ”

And from there on the war between adopted fake and blood son had begun.

It was a battle Damian intended to win, no matter what circumstances he had to resort to claim his rightful place at his Father’s side.

He  _will_ take his place. 

He  _cannot_ _fail_.

Damian’s eyes flash a menacing green as Pennyworth leads him up the stairs.

* * *

War with Drake rages on.

It is a tedious, long lasting battle that continues on in the walls of his father’s home, but Damian  _will_ prevail. He  _will_ take his place. (  _And if you don’t_ ,  a slithery voice whispers, twisting around his mind with a sickly sweet smile. Damian swears it is real when the creature curls around his neck and into his ear whispering, “ _you will be nothing to everyone”_.)

He  will _not_ fail.

* * *

Damian failed.

In the end, it did not occur because he was not great enough, not skilled enough in the areas Father would see fit. It was not because he disobeyed orders or failed to complete a mission and it was not because of Damian’s inability to do anything in this house as correctly as Drake does (despite the fake’s many obvious flaws). No, it was none of those things. In the end, Damian fails because Father is simply  _not there_ , erased from the earth with three simple words that seemed too fictitious to ever be considered a true, plausible fact.

_Batman is dead._

It was funny really.

Damian had taken millions of lives, whether he had meant to or not. He poisoned and incapacitated, killed with swords and bombs and with the touch of his own two hands crackling vicious green, grazing his fingertips along the surface of his victims skin and watching them die silently. He’s gotten rid of so many of the vile monsters that dared to call themselves human, has erased the lives of those who have betrayed and those who had nothing worthy to live for anyway. But in the end, all his victories ended in one major loss he knew he couldn’t fix.

He tried to heal his father.

It was just like the smashed insects on his window sill back at home, forgotten and broken and unable to be healed because there was simply nothing left to fix. You could not build a house without the wooden structure. You could not construct a car without the needed parts.

Batman was dead...

And Damian could not fix it because all that was left of the man was a stupid pile of bones.

Damian hates Batman for this.

He hates him for leaving him this way, for crushing his hopes of knowing something more than the face of his father and the letters of his name. Hates him for placing him among the dark of a maze like Mother had when she’d abandoned him in this dreadful city, left to find some purchase or a way out with no light to guide him. Hates him for loving Grayson and Drake, Pennyworth and even the the royal screw up named Todd more than he could’ve ever loved his own goddamn blood.

Damian listens as the grass crunches from an approaching pair of feet, watching as the shadow of a man stretches long and wide across the blades of green. For a moment Damian simply stares, allowing himself to believe for just a handful of minuscule seconds that it is the man buried six feet below the surface.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes, somehow managing to be comforting in the way Mother’s gentle, delicate touch had always used to be. And when he looks up there is Grayson, eyes red and face pale, a sad smile Damian’s never seen spread across the man’s lips.

“ It’s... it’s ok Damian. We’ll figure it out. No matter how long it takes.”

And he’s leaking. He leaking on his face and out his eyes, silently crying for a man he barely knew, a man who surely hated him every second he’d known him and one Damian will never get to understand like the fake Robin and Grayson.

He is scared and frustrated and angry, so angry. He has learned nothing, has become no better than he was before. And he had left things so broken and mangled with Father, burnt down the bridge before its construction had even began.

( He had to pretend he didn’t care. He  _had to. Isn’t that what Father had wanted?)_

Damian doesn’t know how to stop the tears, how to express his worry of returning to a home he no longer desires to live in or how to smother the dread and grief clogging his chest. It is too overwhelming, too confusing and why hasn’t he ever felt this way before? Why can’t it just  _stop_ ? He tries to heal himself inside with the cracking green he knows is there, tries to find something to fix and mend but there is nothing physical, nothing but perfect organs and a beating, healthy heart. And so he does what he does best. He becomes angry.

Tears spill over his cheeks as he turns on Grayson and away from the chiseled stone of his Father’s grave, turns toward the man who has everything Damian wants but can never have, something Damian can’t physically steal. Something he can’t even touch. The boy slaps the older man’s hand away, lashing out with all the fury he can possibly muster. His eyes are flashing green now, flickers of the emotions inside his chest and Damian screams, yells about how he doesn’t need his help and how he does not care for the death of this man, does not care for any single person who claims to be his family. And then he is stalking off toward the home that is not his, eyes glowing green like they had the day he cannot yet remember, fingers sparkling with neon electricity.

In a different house with a different window sill in a different time, Damian smashes the bugs and watches them die, subjects each and every insignificant thing to a life full of misery and pain, just as he has lived himself.

* * *

Batman is gone.

A new one takes the role, emerges in his place and steals his father’s throne, claims it like Damian intended to claim the title of Robin.

But this was different.

This was not a war for a spot in the family, this was not a battle willingly fought for honor and pride and worthiness.

This was the forceful hands of life, pushing heavily grieving man into a position Damian can tell hurts him deep, deep down inside.

But Damian is angry.

And he makes sure to show it with each and every word.

* * *

“ No one will ever inform you of this issue, perhaps because you all care too greatly for each other’s _feelings,_ but you’re a terrible Batman, Grayson. I wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to sully Batman’s reputation in one night.”

* * *

“ Here I am yet again, enlightening you of you inadequacies as a phony Batman. Even an imbecile could come to the conclusion that your a fraud Grayson. Your obviously not fit to play the part of Batman, are you?”

* * *

The insults continue. 

Damian can only see green.

* * *

For whatever reason, Grayson give him Robin.

Damian is not exactly dissatisfied with these turn of these events, just... puzzled .

Father had adamantly insisted Damian was not trustworthy in any way, always thought of him to be a spy or a solider carrying out an order. Drake abhorred every single cell that belonged to him, (which was a mutual feeling Damian also harbored for the boy) and he knew Grayson had thought the same when they had first met.

The reasons for Grayson suddenly recruiting him was unknown and, quite frankly, insignificant  because Damian  _won_.

It may not have been Damian’s original intention to win by doing nothing, nor was it his own doing in any way. B ut the deep, raw hurt and rage he saw in Drake’s eyes at the sight of Damian in his new uniform had almost felt as good as the green, monstrous power inside of him. It felt as good as taking lives before stabbing bodies, felt as satisfying as his Mother’s jade eyes glinting in pride. Damian ate it up and made sure to capture this moment forever, the pure moment of joy and bliss.

“ Don’t worry Drake,” Damian spoke as the other boy was storming up and towards the platform where he had parked his bike, furious and brimming with steam. ( “ _They do not know anger”_ ,  the slithering creature in his head whispered. _“_ _They do not know bellowing rage.”_ )

“ There are other costumes to try. Perhaps the Batgirl suit will be a nice substitute?” He watched the fake as he stormed away, listened as Grayson chided him for his words, but the smirk on his face remained all the same.

Damian had won.

Drake had failed in every possible way, as an heir and as a so called vigilante.

He won the battles. He won the war. He won his place just as he was meant to do.

_( What was he supposed to do now?)  
_

* * *

“ Go to your room Damian.  _Now_.”

Those were the first words that had been spoken since the silent car ride to the cave.  


Usually, Damian was perfectly comfortable with silence. He preferred it much more than Grayson's consistent babbling about nothing, would rather sit in silence and sketch raging waters and the peaks of mountain tops than listen to insipid stories.  


But the silence in the car - that was a different kind of silence. That silence was tense like an animal waiting to catch its prey, was anger silently brewing beneath the surface until they came to a stop. He knew there would be an outburst, a moment where the explosion would be turned on him or vise versa, and Damian could only wish he had been wrong.

The argument had been loud and felt as eternal as the battles with Drake had, except this time he did not know which buttons to push and why. This time Damian had nothing but words to be his blades and at the end of the day, he only managed to set off an anger in Grayson that he had never had the displeasure of seeing.

“ I said, _go to your room._ Do not make me say it again.”

There was an irritation there, a certain frustration and authority he had only ever seen in the hard man that was his Father. It was frightening to compare him to Father, considering they had always seemed so different in Damian’s eyes. Maybe they hadn’t differed in personality as much as he had originally thought.

“ Fine.” Damian tore off the green domino mask from his face, uncaring of the stinging around his eyes and the bubbling of tears that came with the irritation. He threw down his cape at Grayson’s feet and sunk his heel onto the mask laying with it, uncaring of the broken white lenses or the strength he was openly displaying.  


“ Claim you do not need my assistance and claim I am too much of a danger to do anything but lounge in this stupid house while you defend a city that does not care for you.”

And then he is storming up the stairs and towards the clock that leads to the manor, away from Grayson and away from an argument he has fought too many times to count.

* * *

Damian isn’t sure how long he spends sitting on his bed, knees to his chest and hands tight around his legs as he stares out the window. Nights in Gotham are usually smoggy and cold, almost as miserable as its days. But tonight the sky is clear enough to pick out a handful of stars, warm enough to pretend he is anywhere but here.

It is not often that Damian dwells on this fact but he misses home. He misses his Mother and her hand on his cheek, misses late night camping that was excused as training and misses the place where the green used to be quieter, misses the simplicity of it all. He had been told what to do, had a perfect schedule that was repetitive enough that he eventually came to memorize it. There were specific rules and ways to do things and there was nothing more to life than training and little secrets between a mother and a son. He really misses those days, no matter how many times Grayson claims that place was abusive.

Damian is so lost in his reminiscing that he does not notice the creaking of wood until there are knuckles rapping at his door, light enough to not disturb him if he were sleeping but loud enough for him to hear. There’s a short lived pause and then the knocking persists again, this time a little louder. It has to be Grayson, can only be Grayson because Pennyworth would’ve said something by now, would’ve thrown the door open and walked in. But Grayson simply waits until Damian gives him permission, waits until Damian is ready to face him and for that Damian feels a new found respect growing.   


( Father would’ve burst through the door without even knocking.)

And it is only because of this respect, not because he wants to talk, that he allows the man to enter his quarters. 

“ Come in.” The words are barely audible and his voice cracks awkwardly, but either way Grayson enters and Damian watches his shadow stretch across his bedroom floor like he did at the funeral. The door clicks shut behind him and the yellow light is gone in an instant as he makes his way around the bed to sit next to him.  


They do not speak as Grayson sits beside him and they do not speak as they stare off into the distance, but silence only lasts as long as someone like Grayson can bear. 

“ Your dad used to like watching the stars.” He pauses to look over at Damian, possibly to see his reaction. Damian does not bother.

” He said his dad taught him the names of the constellations when he was younger. Even got him a telescope for his birthday.”

Silence.

A heavy sigh.

“ I’m sorry.”

Even now Damian does not open his mouth, does not try to come up with some answer of retort to use

He doesn’t think Grayson expects him to.

“ I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you about the incident tonight, especially when I know you were just doing what you thought was necessary.” Damian finally relents and looks to the man who has always been patient, a man who surely did not want the responsibility of him but put up with it anyway. The boy examines his face for a moment, the way his blue eyes twinkle despite the sharp edges of grief and loss carved into his face, the way the moonlight only makes the changes more obvious.  


“ I really am sorry Da-“

“ Go away.” He whispers, so quiet and broken but too tired to care. Damian turns away entirely and clenches his fists tightly despite how childish it all is.

It seems that every attempt he has made to resemble some sort of heroism fails and Damian does not want to see the face of disappointment he knows Grayson holds. Tomorrow, they will wake up and try it again, work and work and work until he figures it out and pretend tonight had never happened. But tonight all he wants is to be alone and sulk in his impurities, pick apart every piece of himself until his head hurts and he no longer knows who he is, until he figures out where it went wrong and why.

The mattress squeaks as Grayson rises to his feet, creaking as he walks to the door. The door opens and the shadow is back, the exact same as it had been before. Damian watches it as Grayson says one last thing, his final words until tomorrow where they will greet each other at the breakfast table and eat in silence.

“ Look, I know I’m not Bruce, heck, I’m not even _half_ the Batman he was. But you can’t spend the rest of your life pushing away the people that want to help you like he did. It _never_ works out Damian.”

And then the door clicks shut, enclosing Damian to the darkness he forced upon himself. A small part of him wants to run to the door, wants to ask Grayson to stay because a part of him does not want to be as alone as he’s felt the past few months. But it is too late, too late to save or to fix or to beg. 

A single tear trails down his cheek, the only evidence of his inner turmoil. Damian stares out the window, thinks of all the times Mother had told him stories of Alexander the Great and fed him sweet treats he no longer knows the names of, dreamt of a simpler time in which he knew nothing but the swing of his sword and the praise of his Mother.

This time when he sits down at his window sill, it is to watch the insects crawl into his palm and down his fingers, wondering if being something so small and delicate and seemingly insignificant would be easier than  being the son to two entirely different worlds.

( Outside, a bird that gracefully flaps its wings plummets toward the ground, dead midair before it even hits the grass.)

* * *

A bright clap of thunder and the pounding of rain on window pane was what woke Damian up.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

The truth, however embarrassing and dishonorable it is, was that Damian was only  slightly,  _very_ insignificantly, frightened by the rain and thunder booming from outside, torturing him even from the safe walls of the penthouse Richard had insisted moving into.

It was an absurd thing to be afraid of, was almost as childish as being afraid of the dark when there was nothing to fear but yourself.

Maybe it was the lack of control he felt when the rain started coming or maybe it was the loud, roaring of nature beyond his window, the shadows he thought he saw in the corner of his sight when there was nothing there at all. Whatever it was, it put Damian on edge and he felt the need to do something, anything that could pause the loud and drown out the quiet, anything for a peaceful moment of breath where his thoughts wouldn’t jumble up with every flash of light.

Even after all this time, after all the things he’s defeated and left behind to abandon the Al Ghul legacy, he can still hear _them_ in his head, feeding off his minor insecurities and informing him of his inadequacies. Robin wasn’t supposed to be afraid. _He_ wasn’t supposed to be afraid. He  _can’t_ be afraid.

But those thoughts do not provide much comfort as the rumbling continues on outside.

Damian pulls the thick sheetsof his comforter over his head, tries to drown out the overwhelming light and sounds by pressing the fabric to his ears and eyes and head but it doesn’t work, _it doesn’t_ _ work_ .

And any other day Damian would’ve dreaded this next course of action, would’ve hesitated and wondered, contemplate if it was really necessary and what Mother _(_ _ flashes of chestnut hair, jade eyes, fingers tapping a message on his skin-) _ would say, what Father _(_ _ -a stupid pile of bones, dead, dead, dea-)_ would say.

But there is no other choice and Damian is sure that if he does not relieve himself of this environment the green will be fear, not anger, and sometimes terror is worse than rage. In one swift motion, the sheets are off and he is charging toward the door, away from the storm and the rain and the thunder. Damian quickly walks to his brother’s room just down the hall, the world outside antagonizing him even after he escaped his room turned prison.

Damian stops at the door, hand hesitating on the knob. What if Grayson rejects him? What if he laughs and taunts him, reminds him he is not an heir, was never a good one, and sends him off to Grandfather and Mother and-

The knob is turning before Damian can think twice about it.

Damian is plunged into darkness the moment he enters and there is Grayson on his bed, jumping up, obviously startled, and Damian is glad there is no light to show the red that covers his cheeks. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. This was a stupid decision. A stupid, illogical, idiotic deci-

“ Damian?”

And well, there is no going back now.

“ Gray-“ A shot of lightning flashes from behind the curtains of Grayson’s window and Damian is flinching back towards the door, unable to control himself any more.

Storms mean trudging through freezing rain in the dead of night. Storms, raucous and unpredictable, meant Damian was not in control, could never be in control, and it is  _loud,_ so unbearably loud, and, and -

“ -mian?” Two hands plant on his shoulders and it takes a lot of resistance to not lash out at Grayson who is kneeled in front of him, hair tousled and eyes holding a genuine worry that even the dark couldn’t completely drown out.

“ Is it the storm?” The man asks, frowning at the commotion raging behind the glass. Damian bites his lower lip and looks away, too embarrassed and frightened and too out of it to do much more.

“ It’s okay,” the man smiles, clearly not understanding how much he should be disappointed in Damian right now. “ No one here is going to judge you Damian. I used to be afraid of storms too. Pretty sure your dad was as well.”

Father was afraid of -  _Grayson_ was afraid of -

That was nearly  _impossible_ . That had to be a lie, a fib to make him feel less insecure and vulnerable. Father had been afraid of nothing and Damian was sure Grayson couldn’t be scared of something as mundane as electricity and water. Damian decides to voice these thoughts.

“ Your - your lying. Father was not afraid of anything and despite my previous outlooks on you Grayson, there are worse things to fear than -“ Damian flinches from another bolt of lightning outside, this one somehow louder than the last. “ That.”

Grayson shoots him an amused smile, only slightly offset by his ridiculous hair. “ Your dad wasn’t always Batman, kid. He used to be your age once upon a time, believe it or not. And there are, but sometimes the small terrors can be as intimidating as the big.”

Interesting.

The man spares a glance at the window and then at Damian, expression going soft the way it does when he is unsure of how Damian will respond. “ Do you wanna... do you wanna sleep here for the rest of the night?”

Damian stared at him with wide eyes, too shocked to respond to the question. No one had ever asked if he wanted to be comforted in such a way, to be held and loved without the words ringing through his ears. Mother had been that way when he was younger and more naive, craving the affections of the only parent that was there. Put after a while even the warm honey smiles had faded from her face and there was nothing left but cold, nothing left but a lake frozen over. And so Damian had learned to stop asking and hoping because it was weak and warriors did not ask nor need love.

But... surely this was different right? This was Grayson and he was different from Mother in so many ways, different in all the ones that counted. Grayson wouldn’t hurt him or make fun of him right? Right? ... Right. ( He thinks.)

In the end his final answer comes in the form of a slow nod and then Grayson is gently nudging him to the bed up against the corner, dragging him back beneath the covers and to his chest, arms securing tightly around him. Damian let him. He let Grayson quietly whisper goodnight and hold him so close it almost hurt,let him see Damian’s weakness and tears and the terror in his eyes so clearly. And Grayson had said nothing about it. He made no comment nor no ill timed joke, did not laugh or tease or taunt like Damian had expected him too. 

And it was good. 

So close to the affections of his younger years, warm and bright as it had been when Mother had still been capable of a smile. But it was almost better in a way. Truer. 

There was no more pain to smother with thin coats of love anymore. No need to hide behind well thought out excuses of training exercises and teachings.

The next time Damian woke up, the storm was gone and the sun was streaming through the curtains, and he was pleased to discover that this was the best sleep he’s had during a storm for six years.

* * *

Damian had never understood Father’s endless grief towards the parricide he witnessed in his youth.

He remembers Grayson had once tried to explain the depths of his sorrow, the reason the heartbreak had never healed and instead tore an unfixable void in its place. He couldn’t understand it now, couldn’t possibly comprehend why someone would dedicate so much time to mourning two people who could never come back.

Damian understood grief of course.

He had felt it during the funeral when he had stared at the letters carved into stone, a heavy hand and empty promises the only thing to comfort him. He had felt it when Mother decided it was time to meet his Father, when she shipped him off to live with a man who was suspicious of every breath he had ever took. And he had felt it many other times before, like when Ravi had lost the ability to see and when he found bird carcasses along the ground, the only thing left a pile of bones and feathers.

He had felt the pain then, the same consistent pain that Father could never seem to let go of. But he hadn’t dwelled on it forever, hadn’t cried and brooded every single day of his life for every single loss. Loss was an inevitable factor of life, that is something Mother had always said. With great loss comes great reward and sometimes one must lose things to gain something even better. But Father latched onto that pain like a lifeline, let it break and burn him until there was nothing left inside him. It was like reaching for a bon fire over and over again, burning your fingers continuously for no reason. Father could not seem to let go of his parents, even after years of living with the fact they were gone forever. Damian believed it was stupid to waste so much time on someone you could never see again instead of doing something to honor their lives.

So Damian was indeed surprised to hear Father was going to, for the first time in forever, let go of his pain.

_“ I thought it was important for you to honor my parents’ memory here in Crime Alley .... for the first and last time.”_

Damian stared at his father from a distance, examining the way the street laps hit his face and revealed the lost look of his face, like he was stuck in the past but living in the future.

_ “ Why’s it the last time?” _

_“ Because I’m tired of marking the night I watched my Father bleed from his chest and my Mother from her throat.”_

Damian watched as he opened the lid of the box Pennyworth had given him before their departure. Father pulls out a  _Zoro_ comic, color faded and paper yellowing from age. He continues to observe the man, the supposed great warrior, as he folds the paper into the shape of a boat, watches as he sends it floating down the sewers.

A scowl stretches tight on his lips, arms coming up to fold across his chest as they stand side by side to watch the overly sentimental scene.

_“ Tt. You cannot just build a boat and hope the darkness will magically sail away in it.”_

“ Why not? It’s  my _boat.”_

Damian huffs, fists clenching tightly as he turns sharply and walks away, away from the nonsense and the grief, away from the want to make his own boat and load it with his own sadness, ship it off and let it float next to his Father’s.

* * *

“ I had it under control.”

The high pitched screeching of bats reverberates around the cave as they walk down the stairs and away from the Batmobile, their argument standing strong the entire way.

“ Says who?”

“ Says  me . ”

“ You’re ten years old, damn it - when are you going to get it through your head that you don’t know more than I do?”

And wasn’t that a ridiculous question?

No matter how many times Father argued he was ‘only ten years old’ and ‘just a boy’ it would never serve true because regular ten year old boys did not know at least ten different ways to kill someone. Regular ten year old boys were not born and raised as and by assassins, did not have families that dedicated their lives to crime fighting in this way, could not give life or heal wounds with one touch. Most regular boys, regular  ten year old boys had happy families and numerous friends. They went to parks and could sleep peacefully at night, could do whatever they wanted just because.

Damian did not get such privileges. Having the blood of an Al Ghul meant losing much more than childhood memories.

He wanted to make that point but never got the chance to.

“ What do you think this glass case is for, hmm?”

Damian stares his Father who presses his hand against the glass that holds Todd’s old Robin costume, nostalgia bright in his eyes, remembering a time from way, way before.

“ To honor  him. ”  It couldn’t be the true answer of course, Father still held onto his grievances like a child did with their favorite toy, but he could pretend it was for the right reasons instead of the overly depressing ones.

“  No. It’s here for me - in a spot I can’t ignore - to remind me never again...”

The man’s voice cracks the slightest bit from raw emotion and he doubles over, bent above the table that’s in front of him. His eyes are squeezed shut and Damian can see the pain it causes him, standing here and admitting to his failures. He does not like when Father looks this way.

“ So if you think I’m going to stand here and apologize for worrying about my son’s wellbeing and the choices I see you making, you’re wrong.”

Damian can only stare at him, can only squeeze his fists and dwell on those words because up until now he had been sure Father did not care as much as he had begun to. He had thought Father was only getting on him for his inconvenience, nagging him about rules and safety for stupid reasons...

“ I’m terrified that you don’t care about anybody but yourself.”

“ But I  do  Father.”

Damian hesitantly reaches into a pocket on his utility belt, grasping a pearl between his fingers and palm, debating if this was really how he wanted to present something that obviously held a lot of sentimental value.

The boy steeled himself and without any more thoughts, gently placed the pearl on the table next to his father, turned away to leave him with a piece of the life he probably wanted more than the one he had with Damian.

“ ...  Damian...”

The boy froze in place, pausing in his stride to slowly turn around. There was no more signs of anger nor frustration, no confusion or demanding, just a soft smile and careful blue eyes that told him all he needed to know.

” I’m proud of you.”

And somehow they end up on their knees, arms tight around each other as they embrace for what might be the first time. The words ‘I’m proud of you’ echo in his head and he allows himself to hug Father just a little tighter than he ever has, just as he had always imagined he’d do when he was still using wooden practice swords in hot, sandy deserts.

* * *

He knew realistically that the day he’d been dreading would have to pass by eventually.

In the end, Damian had done the best he could.

He made sure to slowly heal his injuries as to not arise suspicions. He tried to keep his anger and the crackling green locked beneath the surface, tried to make sure it stayed contained as long as he could when others were near. He only healed injured animals in the confines of his bedroom or in darkened alleys on the streets, away from prying eyes and questioning glances. He’d done that and more, so much more. Anything to hide the ugly Thing inside him, anything to mask the fact that Damian was not as normal as they had always thought him to be.

He could not even bear the thought of what Father would say, what  _Grayson_ would say if they ever found out what was living in him.

Damian could imagine it now, the betrayal, the utter disgust they would surely feel towards him. It was enough to shrivel him up in the inside, enough to terrify the Thing and make it lash out in a way it never had before.

And worse, what would the others say? What would Cain, and Todd, and Drake, and Brown, Pennyworth and Gordon think of him then? Surely they would hold the same reproach and anger Father and Grayson would.

So Damian was not going to confess that he had been withholding (not lying, it wasn’t lying) potentially valuable information for about a year. At least not willingly. But of course, the universe always did like to remind Damian of the spite it felt towards him.

He just wishes it hadn’t ended up like... this.

His downfall unknowingly starts the moment the comm link buzzes in his ear.

_“ B,”_ the mechanical voice of Red Hood says, continuing without prompt _. “ Get your as- butt over here. We got an apartment complex that’s up in flames and I’m not equipped to handle it alone.”_

And if Todd, a man who would do almost anything to avoid his Father, messaged  _Batman_ for help, then it was surely an increasingly dangerous situation.

This turned out to be accurate if the chaos of the scene was anything to be judged upon. The police had set up a circle of barricades to ensure no one attempted to run off into the flames in an ill advised attempt to save a loved one. There were ambulances scattered about, paramedics rushing off to carry the injured and newly rescued away from the fire and towards help. Fire trucks were still struggling to put out the orange blazes and police men were located behind the blockade, consoling frightened people who were screaming at the top of their lungs, arguing and crying, begging to get just a little bit closer.

Damian knew that feeling well. The desperation and terror that gripped you while you watched and waited, relying on someone else to save something so precious and dear to you. He hated it. He was sure they did too.

He saw Nightwing and Red Hood appear out of the building at the same time, orange highlighting them as they walked. One of his brothers was carrying an unconscious young woman, presumably in her twenties, and the other a teenage boy who was struggling to stay awake. They jumped back into the orange flames just as Batman ended a conversation with Commissioner Gordon. 

His Father turned to him.

“ Robin, go help the paramedics while we work on getting the rest of the civilians out.” And then Father was heading towards the burning buildings too, leaving Damian to follow out the orders he’d been given.

He did not complain nor did he argue, simply turned around to provide assistance as he’d been told. Even with knowing that his family had protective armor and gear, it did not seem to ease the jumbled worry boiling in the pit of his stomach.

He pushed it down and turned towards on of the nearest ambulance trucks.

After what had felt like an eternity of helping citizens make it to ambulances and patching up injuries, they had finally managed to extract all the injured civilians out of the buildings and the firefighters had successfully extinguished the fire. The apartments were destroyed, burnt to a crisp in fact, but everyone was no longer in peril and from what Damian had seen, no one was going to die tonight.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until he saw  _ them _ .

Todd turned out to be the one to discover their bodies.

His head hung low as he carried the limp bodies of two children in his arms, stiff as a board while he walked towards them. Damian had knew the minute he saw them that they were gone, that their gifts had been ripped away from them, taken by the violent claws of life. Damian had been scratched enough to know if hurt like hell, enough to know almost any other pain in the world could not begin to compare to the talons of death. 

He watched as Red Hood gave two paramedics the dead children, both no older than five and already gone. He watched as they pulled them into the ambulance in what felt to be slow motion, watched as the parents caught sight of their children from within the truck and begin mourning, watched as the fearful hope became nothing but heavy sorrow.

Damian had saw that pain before.

He saw it the night Father had pressed his hand flat against the glass case of Todd’s old Robin suit, saw it when he stared up at the sewer grate and recalled the trauma of his childhood, saw it when Grayson had first put on that cowl and mask. He’d seen it too many times to feel nothing, had been exposed to the heartbreak that carves its rough edges into a persons face, had seen too many times what the grief and burden does to a body. 

He was moving before he knew it.

Damian commanded the paramedics to leave and with some convincing, they did. He ignored the shouts of Batman and Nightwing, ordering him to leave the two parents be. This was not a time to sit still and watch silently  _( green grass, wet on his cheeks, staring at letters carved in stone)._ He needed to do what he would’ve done in the beginning, had there been more than a pile of bones..

Robin quietly took a seat next to the Mother who was holding her dead son close to her chest, tears streaming down her face while she sobbed.

“ What was his name?” He asks quietly, a question no one but them could hear.

“ M - Malcom.” She rasped, voice cracking as she held him tighter against her, cradling his head.

“ What about her?” He asks, moving his gaze to the girl who was in her father’s arms, his own tears streaming down his face in a silent cry.

“ .... Joy.”

Damian nods silently and asks quietly, “ May I see his face? I may... I may be able to help.”

The blonde haired woman stares at him for a moment, her grip on Malcom unyielding as she looks for something, though he does not know what. She eventually gives him a small nod and allows Damian to see his pale complexion and puffy cheeks, allows him to see her baby which Damian knows is a big form of trust.

Dirty blonde hair brushes against his forehead and there are scrapes across his nose and cheeks, light freckles dotting his face. Damian observes his features and imagines the little boy running off with his sister, smiling while their parents hold them tight, just like all normal children do. 

It was enough to convince him to say the words.

“ I can bring both of them back to you. I just need to take a portion of each of your gifts.” Damian watches the confusion that grows on their teary eyes, watches as the father stutters out a mumbled, “ G - gift?”

“ Life,” Damian explains. “ If you allow me to take some of your... gift I can bring them back.”

The two parents only stare at him, hesitancy evident in their eyes. It made sense. It was not everyday someone asked you such an odd question.

“ Will we die?” The father asks as he stares down at his daughters face, brushing stray hair from her cheek.

“ I do not believe it will come to that. Just -  _please_.”  Damian begs, eyeing the two children who reminded him all too much of his painful upbringing. “ Please let me help them.”

Silence.

And then the two nodded in agreement, grief replaced with a determination to bring back the two innocent kids who did not deserve something as terrible as death. Damian nodded and turned towards his family, all of which were oddly watching the scene. Damian felt the dread creep up again. He had to push it away like he did most things, except this time it was more urgent. He had two kids to save. He  _could not_ fail.

“ Batman, Nightwing, I need you to hold them while I... help. The rest of you need to ensure that nobody witnesses what I am about to do.”

Father and Grayson looked to each other questioningly before stepping into the ambulance truck and taking a seat. The parents gently handed off Malcom and Joy to the two vigilantes and sat up straight, hands intertwined with one another. 

“ I assure you this will not hurt.” They both gave him a nod, tense smiles stretching across their lips when the man and woman glanced at each other.

“ Robin.”

Damian turned towards his father who was holding up Malcom in his lap, tense and uncertain of what was going to happen.

Damian could understand. He and Nightwing were most likely very confused right now, including everyone else who was standing outside the ambulance truck, watching.

_It’s okay_ , Damian told himself.  _You will save two children. Even if the cost is your families love._

“ What are you -“

“ I’ll explain later Father. Everything will be fine.”

Damian offered him a small, nervous smile before he turned back to the couple, a new sense of determination settling in his chest to block out the growing uncertainties he felt.

“ When I tap you on your hand, you will fall unconscious for a brief moment. You should feel no pain.”

When they nodded and help out their palms, Damian gently tapped each one and watched as their eyes fell shut. When they both awakened from inky black, Damian have a nod of approval. “ Perfect. Thank you.”

Then he turned to Nightwing and Batman, both of which were staring at him oddly. Damian ignored it and started with the boy, Malcom. 

He quickly pulled off his green gloves and tossed them to the floor, let his eyes fall shut and waited. He felt the familiar feeling of the Thing wash over him as his finger tips began to produce a crackling green electricity. There was an audible gasp from behind him along with the two completely baffled looks of his brother and father staring at him, watching. 

_Ignore it_ , he told himself.  _Focus_.

Damian brought his hand to the boy’s chest and searched for what was injured with ease, a process he’d performed millions of times by now. The green from his fingers heals the wounds and then it mends the damage inside like it had done since he was a child, cupping birds in his hands and watching them fly away. Damian tapped Malcom’s palm and watched his chest rise slowly, watched his eyes flutter open as he regained consciousness. Damian softly smiled at the boy, a smile that was reserved for quiet moments in his bedroom, ones that no one knew about. It did not matter. He had saved him. 

Damian did the same for Joy, his sister, and it was not long before the family of four was reunited. He watched as tears - joyful ones - cascaded down their cheeks, watched as the two parents clutched their children so tightly, like they’d never let go. It reminded him too much of Mother’s hand on his cheek, trying to smother out the pain with as much love as they were permitted. He felt a sadness flutter in his heart at the thought.

“ Thank you,” the Mother rasped as she tugged his hand and pulled him forward into a hug. Damian went ramrod still before he loosened up and wrapped his arms around her, squeezed and let go with a smile his lips hadn’t formed in years. Damian gave the woman a nod. “ It was no trouble really.”

Damian turned to leave the ambulance and watched as Batman and Nightwing stood and exited with him. When the doors shut closed, Damian was met with the perplexed faces of his family, all of which who stared at him, as Todd would say, like he’d grown two heads.

“ I -“ he hesitated, looking down at his gloveless hands that had begun to tremble slightly. Damian closed his eyes and took in a shuttering breathe, forced them open and tried to bury the dread deep, deep within his stomach. He looked up at them, fear pounding in his heart even before he said the words.

“ I think I have a lot of things to explain.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope at least one person enjoyed this because I spent a ridiculous amount of time on this 😅
> 
> I also find the fact that I ended this with a cliffhanger extremely hilarious because I totally hate cliffhangers as much as the next reader haha!
> 
> If anyone has any questions or suggestions, etc please feel free to leave them as well trigger warnings I may have missed! This thing is the longest fic I’ve ever written so I’m bound to have missed something.
> 
> And I totally forgot to mention this earlier but the title of this is from ‘ Demons’ by Imagine Dragons. 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are highly encouraged as always :)
> 
> (Totally forgot to mention this but there will be a sequel and other one shots released later on. When the sequel comes out I’ll remind everyone in the comments and post a chapter for those who subscribed to this story. If your interested in all the stories that will come on later, you can click on the series name and subscribe to the series so you’ll get emails every time I update. Happy reading!)


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